Dedication and Epigraph
Dedication
For those who believe love is only pain,
when in truth, it's the imperfect sum of desire, madness, surrender… and sacrifice.
Epigraph
The Svyázka?
It’s not love. Not magic. Not destiny.
It’s a curse. A damn chain written in the blood of Russian werewolves.
An ancient pact, sealed with pain, born from the arrogance of our ancestors...
They rejected the sacred union granted by the Moon Goddess—
and paid the price.
They left no blessings. Only scars.
Only chains.
Only a curse passed down through generations,
like venom that never fades.
And the more power runs in your blood… the crueler the punishment.
When the Svyázka awakens, it doesn’t ask. It doesn’t wait.
It doesn’t care if you’re ready.
It simply consumes you.
Breaks you. Binds you.
Gives you to another life without your consent.
Even if you don’t know her.
Even if she won’t look at you.
Even if she doesn’t understand you.
Even if you hate her with every fiber of your being...
She is your sentence.
And you know it from the very first second.
That voice. That gaze. That scent.
Your wolf recognizes her. And surrenders.
It crawls, obsesses, kneels.
And you...
You die standing, trying not to collapse with him.
Do you want to know what it feels like?
It’s fire beneath your skin when she’s near but you can’t touch her.
It’s anxiety, hunger, addiction.
A desire that never fades.
A pain that never stops.
A need so brutal it burns your bones and shatters your mind
just because you want her to be only yours.
You don’t sleep. You don’t eat. You don’t breathe.
Everything that isn’t her… hurts.
And if she doesn’t recognize you…
If she ignores you…
If she rejects you…
You crumble. And die.
Slowly. Inevitably. Irreversibly.
Your pride is worthless.
Your strength means nothing.
Not even the most powerful Alpha in the world can resist.
Because the Svyázka isn’t love.
It’s total surrender.
It erases you.
And reshapes you into whatever image she desires.
With her voice. With her scent. With her essence...
She can change everything about you.
And even if part of you wants to protect her, free her, respect her...
Your wolf doesn’t care.
It doesn’t understand freedom.
It only knows she is his.
And nothing else matters.
You can’t hurt her without destroying yourself.
You can’t leave without suffocating and suffering.
And if someone else touches her… if they look at her, desire her, breathe too close…
It burns.
Like a thousand blades slicing your soul.
And the need to erase that person…
is overwhelming.
And still… you need her.
You search for her.
You follow her.
You want her only for yourself, even if it drags you to hell.
The Svyázka is the worst torture that exists:
The one that wears the mask of love…
And reveals itself as obsession.
As madness.
As a cage you beg to be locked inside...
As long as she’s trapped in it with you.
—Excerpt from the journal of Aleksei Vokof, Eastern Alpha
